#One of my favorite AU ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thepencilnerd · 3 months ago

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Scary Love

summary: Chishiya is a doctor whose world is turned upside down when a patient is rushed into the hospital after a devastating accident. As you are whisked past him into the ER, he becomes captivated by the intoxicating scent of your blood, igniting a primal hunger within him. Despite battling the insatiable urge to claim you as his own, he realizes in that moment that he must have you—at any cost. word count: 9.3k genre: Vampire!Doctor!Chishiya AU, horror, paranormal, angst warnings: toxic relationship, obsessive, manipulative, and possessive behavior, blood-drinking/sharing a/n: I am vampire trash; complete fic posted here :) - inspired by @aliceinborderlandsquidgame's post <3 full moodboards here ;)

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flickered, casting a sickly glow over the linoleum floors. Chishiya Shuntaro had grown numb to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the low hum of machinery, his steps echoing with a detached rhythm as he made his rounds. His pale fingers flicked through patient charts with the same indifference, a façade of professionalism masking a complete lack of investment in the lives he was supposed to save. He was a doctor because it passed the time, and time was his greatest enemy—a relentless, never-ending stretch that blurred the line between life and death.

It had been centuries since he had felt a spark of genuine curiosity. No patient had ever captured his attention; their faces all blended together, just like the fading lights and the indistinguishable corridors.

Until now.

Chaos broke out suddenly. “Incoming! Trauma, we need the ER prepped, now!” The doors flew open, and a stretcher burst through, surrounded by frantic doctors and nurses. The air changed, thickening with tension and something else—something that pulled Chishiya to a halt.

Then, he smelled it.

The coppery, tantalizing aroma hit him like a shockwave, making the blood in his own veins pulse with a long-forgotten hunger. It wasn’t just the scent of any blood—it was yours. Rich and intoxicating, it seeped into the sterile hospital air, spreading like a thick mist, curling its way around his senses. For the first time in years, something surged inside him—no, not something, but someone.

You.

As they whisked you past him, your pale, bloodstained form nearly limp on the stretcher, his muscles tightened against a primal urge. He pressed his wrist to his nose, but it did little to muffle the smell. The veins beneath his skin darkened and bulged, his fangs pushing against his gums. Hunger clawed at him, vicious and demanding. He almost doubled over as the shift threatened to take him right there, nearly exposing the angel of death he truly was in this place that was supposed to be a sanctuary of life.

The doctors were still shouting orders, oblivious to his struggle. They didn’t notice the way his eyes followed your body, transfixed as you disappeared behind the swinging doors of the trauma room. The chaotic rhythm of the hospital seemed to slow, all sounds fading except for the maddening yet weakening beat of your pulse. You were dying. And if you died now, he would never taste you—never experience that exquisite fire as your blood coursed through him, burning away the boredom that had settled in his bones like rot.

No. You couldn’t die. He wouldn’t allow it.

Inside the trauma room, the staff’s desperation grew as your condition worsened. “Where’s the trauma specialist?” a nurse shouted, panic fraying the edge of her voice. Another doctor shook his head, hurriedly checking his phone. “Not on call,” he replied, his tone laced with frustration. “We need someone now, or we’ll lose them.”

It was the opportunity Chishiya had been waiting for.

“I’ll take over,” he said, his voice slicing through the chaos with an unsettling calm. His eyes glinted with a purpose no one else in the room could fathom. A few heads turned, doubt flickering across the other doctors' faces, but there was no time to debate. Lives were at stake, and Chishiya’s reputation as a skilled, if unorthodox, surgeon had never been questioned.

As the son of the chief and owner of the hospital, he had a certain authority that made it nearly impossible for anyone to challenge him, not that they could. His cold, calculated precision as a doctor was unquestionable; he was known for making the right call in dire situations. The other doctors exchanged hesitant glances, aware of his lineage and the weight it carried.

Chishiya had chosen surgery because it was the place where life and death hung in the balance, where the line between salvation and demise blurred into one. It was the only place where he found any semblance of stimulation, where his own indifference toward life could be masked by the sharp focus and swift precision that surgery demanded. He held no sentimental notions about saving lives; for him, each procedure was simply another test of skill, a challenge to pass the time.

The truth was, Chishiya didn’t care whether his patients lived or died. He had spent too many lifetimes watching people come and go, their lives flickering out like so many dying stars. Life, with all its fragility and unpredictability, held little meaning for him. But in the operating room, as scalpels sliced and sutures stitched, there was a fleeting thrill—a momentary exhilaration that came with deciding who would cross back over from the brink of death, and who would not. It was in that precarious dance that he found a reason to continue his own unending existence.

And now, as he stood over your bloodied body, he felt something he hadn’t felt in centuries—a stirring of genuine desire. Not to save you, but to possess you. The scent of your blood had gripped him in a way that defied his otherwise indifferent nature, as though it held a promise that could reignite the fire that had long gone cold in his veins.

With a newfound resolve, he pushed forward, gliding into the awaiting trauma room with an unnatural, quiet grace. He was greeted by a flurry of activity: doctors barking out commands, nurses adjusting IV lines, and the faint, steady beep of the heart monitor.

Your heartbeat. Weak, fluttering. But still alive.

Chishiya could see the crimson staining your skin, pooling around the gaping wounds that painted your body. His gaze fixated on the deepest gash, almost losing himself in the way your blood glistened under the harsh lights. It took everything in him to not lean over and taste it. He gritted his teeth, his fangs aching against his gums, and forced his gaze upward, meeting your half-lidded eyes for the briefest moment. Even though you were barely conscious, something flickered in your gaze, a spark of recognition—or perhaps, instinctual fear.

But he wasn’t here to save you because it was his duty as a doctor. No, it was far more selfish than that. It was the first time in his endless life that he had felt compelled to possess something—someone. He needed to keep you alive, not for your sake, but for his own. Because in that fleeting moment when your blood had perfumed the air, he had felt alive again.

The doctor in him barked orders for blood transfusions, sutures, whatever was necessary to keep you from slipping away. But the predator within already had plans far darker than anyone in that room could fathom. When you woke, if you woke, you would be his—his to heal, break, drain, turn, to keep. Your blood was his now, and he would not rest until every drop had quenched his thirst.

The darkness around you was heavy, a suffocating fog that clung to your senses as you struggled to break free. Gradually, the world returned in pieces—muted beeping, the sterile scent of antiseptic, and an ache that radiated throughout your entire body. Your eyelids fluttered open, and bright fluorescent lights blurred into focus. You were in a hospital bed, a grey blanket draped loosely over your body, and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor kept pace with your sluggish pulse.

You blinked, taking in the unfamiliar room. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of the machines. A vague memory of chaos resurfaced—voices shouting, hands pressing down to stop the bleeding, and the overwhelming sensation of slipping away. But now, you were still here, alive. How?

The sound of footsteps pulled you from your haze. A figure stepped into view, and the sight of him made your breath hitch in your throat. He was beautiful—hauntingly so. Pale skin that almost seemed to glow under the harsh lights, juxtaposed by his jet-black hair, sharp features softened only by the faintest curl of his lips, and eyes so dark they could swallow you whole. There was a strange magnetism to him, a pull that made it impossible to look away.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, his voice low and calm, yet laced with an edge of something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze flickered over your form, as though assessing you, and a faint, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You gave us quite a scare.”

You swallowed, your throat dry and raw. “W-where am I?” you managed to croak.

“You’re in the hospital,” he replied, stepping closer to your bedside. “You had a nasty accident, but you’re stable now. I was able to take over your case.”

There was a glint in his eye, a darkness that contrasted with the reassuring tone in his voice. Something about him felt… different. You couldn’t shake the sense that his presence wasn’t just happenstance. It was almost as if he had chosen to be here, with you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but there was an inexplicable allure that made you lean into that fear rather than shy away from it.

“You’re my doctor?” you asked, the words coming out softer than you intended.

He inclined his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yes,” he said smoothly. “Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya. I’ll be overseeing your recovery from here on out.” His fingers lightly grazed your wrist as he reached for the chart at the foot of your bed, and the touch sent a faint jolt through you, waking something you couldn’t quite name.

You didn’t know how long you stared at him, only that you felt an odd flutter in your chest—a mix of fascination and trepidation. There was something intense about the way he looked at you, as if you were a puzzle he was in no rush to solve. Or a prize he had all the time in the world to claim.

He continued to speak, explaining your injuries and the procedures they’d performed, but you couldn’t focus on his words. All you could think about was how close he stood, how captivating his voice was, and how each syllable seemed to wrap around you like a velvet chain. There was an energy about him that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if you were being seen in ways you didn’t fully understand.

“Why did you…” you began, then hesitated, your brow furrowing. “How did you take over?”

"Wrong place, right time." His eyes flashed with a hint of amusement, but his expression remained impassive. “Let’s just say,” he murmured, his tone dropping lower, “that I have a vested interest in seeing you recover.” His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “After all, I went to such great lengths to keep you alive. It would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

The words sent a chill through you, and yet, some part of you was drawn to the danger in his voice, to the mystery that surrounded him. You could feel your pulse quickening, and from the way his gaze lingered on you, you had the unsettling suspicion that he could sense it too.

Chishiya had saved your life. And as you lay there under his watchful gaze, you felt a strange comfort in the knowledge that this beautiful, almost ethereal doctor had taken a special interest in you. His words wrapped around you like a soothing balm, pushing back the panic that had threatened to take hold.

“You must rest now,” he murmured, his tone gentle yet firm. “The road to recovery won’t be easy, but I’ll be here every step of the way.” He leaned over to adjust the drip in your IV line, his movements calm and practiced. When his fingers brushed against your wrist, a spark seemed to shoot through your veins, making your pulse flutter in response. You told yourself it was only the aftermath of the accident, the lingering adrenaline playing tricks on your mind.

The corners of his lips twitched, as though he was holding back a secret, but there was nothing in his expression that gave you reason to question him. The hospital room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, and you were suddenly aware of how loudly your pulse echoed in the space between you. You had the unsettling suspicion that he could hear it too, his eyes tracking the faint rise and fall of your chest, as if to confirm that life was still coursing through you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice almost inaudible. “I… I don’t know what would’ve happened if—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he leaned closer. “You don’t need to thank me.” The way he looked at you made your skin prickle with an inexplicable heat. “It’s my job, after all,” he added, but there was something unspoken behind the words—something that made your heart skip a beat.

Your scent washed over him in a maddening wave. It was faintly metallic, laced with the lingering traces of blood and the sweetness of your natural aroma. It wrapped around him like a drug, igniting a hunger he had been suppressing since the moment he first caught your scent in the trauma room. He clenched his jaw to keep his composure, forcing his body to remain still, but every cell screamed for him to close the distance, to taste you.

For a moment, you wondered why he had taken over your case. Surely there were other doctors who could have handled your injuries. But those thoughts melted away as quickly as they had come, dissolving under the intensity of his gaze. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was just fate that had brought him to you in that critical moment.

As he straightened up and began to walk toward the door, you found yourself not wanting him to leave. “Will I… see you again?” you asked, almost embarrassed by the urgency in your voice.

Chishiya’s gaze flickered briefly to the pulse in your neck, his thoughts dark and dangerous. The rhythm was elevated, stronger than when you had been clinging to life on the operating table. Each beat seemed to resonate in the air, taunting him with the warmth that coursed through your veins. He could feel the veins under his skin begin to swell, the familiar ache of his fangs pushing against his gums. It was taking every ounce of his willpower not to lean in and press his lips to your skin, to sink his teeth in and finally experience the intoxicating concoction of your blood.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, letting the hunger roil beneath the surface as he forced himself to focus on the here and now. He couldn’t lose control—not yet. There would be time for that later, when you were stronger, when you trusted him enough to let down your guard. But for now, he needed to play the role of the devoted doctor, the savior who had plucked you from death’s grasp.

He glanced back at you with a faint, almost cryptic smile. “Oh, you will,” he said, his tone hinting at a promise. “I’ll be keeping a very close eye on your progress.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone with a feeling you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t know why, but the thought of him watching over you, being there each day, brought an odd sense of comfort—even if it was laced with something darker that you couldn’t yet understand.

You closed your eyes, exhaustion pulling you under once more, unaware that Chishiya’s promise had far deeper implications than you could have ever imagined.

Days passed in a blur of routine and quiet moments, the sterile monotony of the hospital broken only by Chishiya’s daily visits. He would appear at your bedside with an easy grace, carrying trays of food or cups of tea that were far better than the bland hospital meals. It wasn’t his duty to bring you such things, but he always insisted, saying it was no trouble at all.

“You need your strength,” he’d say with a faint smile, setting the food down before pulling up a chair to sit beside you. “And the hospital’s kitchen could use some improvement.”

At first, you thought he was simply being polite—going above and beyond to reassure you in the wake of the trauma. But as days turned into a week, then two, his presence became a comforting constant. He would linger, taking time out of his rounds to talk, asking you questions about your life before the accident. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing small stories and fragments of your past. It felt natural, effortless. Almost as if he were more of a friend than your doctor.

And then, there were the moments where you caught him looking at you—not with the detached concern of a physician, but with an intensity that sent a warm flutter through your chest. It was in the way his dark eyes would linger just a little too long, or how his voice would soften when he asked how you were feeling. He had an aura of mystery, a quiet depth that drew you in, making you curious to know more about him.

“Why did you decide to become a doctor?” you asked one afternoon, after he’d brought you a bowl of soup. “You don’t seem like the type.”

He raised an eyebrow, setting the tray down. “And what type is that?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, though his expression remained inscrutable.

“I don’t know,” you replied, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. “It’s just… you’re different. Not like the other doctors.”

“Different?” he echoed, his lips curving into a small, enigmatic smile. “I suppose I am.”

Chishiya’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, as if weighing his response. “Well,” he began, his tone thoughtful, “I suppose it’s not entirely unlike the others. The desire to help people… to make a difference.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “But it’s not always about saving lives. Sometimes it’s about giving people a second chance.”

There was a strange, almost wistful note to his voice, as though he were speaking from some place deeper than his words suggested. “When you see someone on the brink,” he continued, his gaze drifting to the window, “when they’re standing at the edge between life and death… you realize how fragile it all is. Being a doctor means you get to be there at those moments. You get to decide if someone gets to come back.”

He glanced back at you then, his eyes dark and inscrutable. “I suppose there’s something… meaningful about that.”

The explanation sounded genuine enough, but there was an elusive quality to his words, as if he were hiding something behind them. It was almost as if he were playing a part, reciting the lines expected of someone in his profession, but with a subtle twist that hinted at a deeper, unspoken truth. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he had deliberately left out the real reason, that there was something more lurking beneath the surface. But the way he spoke, with such conviction and calmness, made it hard to question him.

“Meaningful,” you echoed, considering his words. “That makes sense, I guess.”

Chishiya’s smile deepened ever so slightly, though his eyes remained as shadowed as ever. “It does,” he murmured, his voice dipping into that familiar quiet cadence that you had come to associate with him. “At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

He didn’t offer more, and you didn’t press, but it left you wondering. Who was he, really? There was so much about him that seemed out of place, as though he didn’t quite belong here in this world of beeping machines and sterile white walls. But those questions seemed to fade when he was around, replaced by a sense of ease you hadn’t felt in a long time.

One day, when he brought you a book from the hospital’s library—an old novel you’d mentioned wanting to read—your heart stirred with a flutter of warmth. He had remembered. You hadn’t even been sure he’d been listening when you’d said it in passing, yet here he was, handing the book to you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I thought you might like something to occupy your time,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a faint glint of satisfaction in his eyes, as though he took pleasure in your surprise.

“Thank you,” you murmured, glancing down at the cover. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, settling into the chair beside your bed. “Besides, I like to see you smile.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the words, your fingers tightening around the book’s spine. He spoke so easily, as though they were just another fact. And yet, there was a sincerity there that made your heart quicken. The two of you continued to talk, falling into the familiar rhythm of conversation, but now there was an unspoken bond between you—a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

As you laughed at one of his dry, almost cynical jokes, you realized just how much you’d come to look forward to his visits. He wasn’t just your doctor anymore. He was the person who brought light into the sterile stillness, whose presence made the days feel shorter and the nights less lonely.

You didn’t know when it had happened—when his daily visits had stopped being just a part of your recovery and had become the best part of your day. But it didn’t seem to matter. All you knew was that when Chishiya was there, everything felt… different. Better, even. And the thought of him not being there once you were discharged sent a quiet pang of dread through you.

You brushed the thought aside, telling yourself there would be time to worry about that later. For now, you were content to let things unfold, to savor the way his voice filled the silence, and to lose yourself in the captivating mystery of the doctor who had saved your life—and somehow, made you want to keep living it.

But as the days passed, there were moments—fleeting and faint—where you would catch a shadow in his eyes, or feel a strange chill in the air. Little things that seemed out of place, that made you wonder if there was more to him than he let on. If there was a reason why he seemed so invested in you, in ways that went beyond what any doctor should be.

You told yourself it was nothing. It had to be. But in the depths of your mind, a voice you couldn’t quite silence began to murmur. There was something about him—something hidden beneath the calm exterior, behind the kind words and soothing touch. And while part of you yearned to understand him, to get closer and unravel the enigma he presented, another part recoiled, sensing danger in the allure.

You brushed the thought aside again, convincing yourself that there was no harm in letting things unfold a little longer. You were drawn to him, captivated by the man who had breathed life back into you when you had come so close to losing it. Whatever else lingered beneath the surface could wait.

Chishiya leaned against the wall, watching you sleep with a predatory intensity that belied his calm demeanor. The sterile light of the hospital room bathed you in a soft glow, illuminating the delicate contours of your face, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed. It was a picture of innocence, and yet, he knew better.

Each night, as you drifted into unconsciousness, he had taken it upon himself to ensure your recovery. He would enter your room with a careful quietness, his heart racing with anticipation. The blood he had transfused into your veins was his own—rich, dark, and heady. With every drop, he watched as your body healed at an extraordinary rate, responding to his unique gift in a way that no ordinary human’s could.

But it was more than just healing. With each transfusion, he wove a delicate web around your mind, guiding your thoughts, dulling your instincts, and filling your dreams with vivid images of him—of the two of you together, as if fate had conspired to bring you closer. It was a power he had grown accustomed to wielding, the ability to shape your perception, to cloud your judgment, and to eliminate any lingering doubts that might threaten to disrupt his carefully laid plans.

Tonight, he felt particularly bold, his blood coursing through your veins like a gentle whisper. As he knelt beside your bed, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, letting his fingers linger against your skin. The cool touch sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt a familiar urge rise within him—the insatiable hunger that had first drawn him to you. But he pushed it down, focusing instead on the connection he shared with you in that moment.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated, delving deep into your subconscious. The edges of your dreams were malleable, a landscape he could shape and mold to his liking. He wove his essence into the fabric of your thoughts, allowing himself to seep into every corner of your mind. You would find him there, in the laughter of shared moments and the warmth of stolen glances—never questioning, never doubting.

With every drop of his blood you took in, he could almost taste you—sweet and intoxicating, a tantalizing blend of life and vulnerability. Each transfusion deepened the bond between you, intertwining your fates in a way that transcended mere human comprehension. It was an unspoken pact, a mingling of blood that forged a connection so profound that it felt as if your very souls were entwined.

Chishiya reveled in the sensation, the way your body responded to his essence, healing at an accelerated pace. It wasn’t just a matter of recovering from injury; it was about forging something extraordinary, something that no one else could ever touch. With every heartbeat, he could feel your pulse syncing with his, an intimate rhythm that resonated deep within him. He no longer felt like an observer in your life; he was becoming a part of it, an intrinsic element of your very being.

As he navigated the landscape of your dreams, he could almost hear the echo of your thoughts. They were softer, gentler, reshaped by his influence. Fears and doubts that might have surfaced were quelled, replaced by feelings of safety and warmth whenever you thought of him. It was as if he had woven a soft blanket around your mind, lulling you into a state of trust that was as intoxicating as the blood flowing through your veins.

In those moments, he knew you could sense him. You would smile in your sleep, murmur his name as if it were a mantra, and he would feel a surge of triumph course through him. You were blissfully unaware of the truth, caught in the web of his enchantment. Chishiya rejoiced in the knowledge that he was the architect of your dreams, the keeper of your heart.

Your connection went beyond the physical; it was spiritual, primal, a merging of souls that would leave scars on both of you, forever binding you to him. As he watched you drift deeper into slumber, he felt the weight of his own immortality pressing against his chest. In you, he found something he thought he would never experience again—a reason to embrace the world and all its fragility.

Every time you took in his blood, he was there, living within you, and he could feel the bond solidifying, deepening into something admantine. With every transfusion, you became more of his and he, more of you. It was a dance of life and death, and Chishiya savored each step, each shared heartbeat, each lingering glance that tied you together in a way that transcended the boundaries of life itself.

In that silence of the night, with you sleeping soundly before him, he made another silent vow: he would protect you, not just from the world but from yourself, ensuring that you would never question the depths of your connection. After all, he had given you life, and now he intended to keep you, to possess you wholly, in a way that no one else could ever understand.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered softly, the words brushing against the boundary of your dreamscape. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, the contact felt like electricity. “I’ll always be here, watching over you.”

As he settled into the rhythm of your dreams, he felt a thrill of satisfaction wash over him. You were his, bound to him by blood and desire, your fate intertwined with his own. The world outside faded away, replaced by a reality he controlled—where every beat of your heart resonated with his own, and every sigh you breathed echoed with the promise of what was to come.

In your slumber, you would never suspect the truth. You would remain blissfully unaware of the shadows lurking beneath his charm, the darkness that fueled his desire. And while you thought you were healing, he knew the truth: he was ensnaring you deeper under his spell, inch by tantalizing inch.

And the best part? You would never question it.

As the days turned into weeks, you found comfort in the routine that Chishiya established. He would arrive each day with a new meal, often sharing stories of his life that drew you in like a moth to a flame. His voice, smooth and enchanting, would fill the room, replacing the sterile sounds of beeping machines with warmth and familiarity. You felt safe in his presence, as if he alone understood the fragility of life.

"Have you ever thought about what comes after all of this?" he asked one afternoon, his eyes dark with something deeper. “After you’re healed?”

You looked up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. "Not really. I guess I just want to get back to my life." But the truth was, you had started to wonder if your life could ever be the same again—especially with Chishiya so close, making every moment feel more vivid.

"Life has a way of changing us," he replied, his lips curling into a smile that sent shivers down your spine. "You might find that what you once wanted pales in comparison to what you could have."

The way he spoke, it felt as if he were weaving a spell around you, tantalizing and entrancing. You brushed the thought aside, unable to shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on. But the sensation faded like mist, replaced by the warmth of his presence.

That night, as you drifted into sleep, you could feel his essence lingering in your dreams. Vivid images danced before you—Chishiya laughing, his eyes sparkling with mischief, as you shared moments of joy that felt almost too perfect. Each time you murmured his name in your sleep, a thrill of satisfaction coursed through him, binding you closer to him, reinforcing the invisible ties of your connection.

Yet, in the corners of your mind, shadows lurked—brief flickers of doubt that would evaporate like smoke when Chishiya was near. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him, a depth that both intrigued and unnerved you. But every time you reached for the questions, they slipped away like grains of sand, like they were never there.

One night, sleep enveloped you like a thick fog, and you drifted into a dream that felt more like a waking nightmare. The atmosphere was heavy, suffused with a gothic eeriness that settled over your senses, and you found yourself wandering through the dimly lit corridors of the hospital. The walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, shadows flickering just beyond the edges of your vision.

As you wandered, flashes of memories flickered in and out, disjointed yet vivid. You saw Chishiya standing at the entrance of your hospital room the night you were admitted, a sly smile on his lips as he volunteered to take you as his patient. His confidence radiated in the sterile air, and there was something unsettling about the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then the scene shifted, and you were back in your room, the moonlight spilling through the window, casting eerie shapes across the floor. Chishiya was there, but he seemed different—more predatory. You watched as he stood silently beside your bed, his eyes fixed on you, a certain hunger swirling within them.

Suddenly, the dream twisted darker. You found yourself an unwilling observer of a horrifying act—Chishiya leaning over your sleeping form, an IV drip connected to your arm, his fingers deftly removing the tubing. In an instant, he was sucking on the end, your blood shimmering on his lips, glistening like the black nectar of forbidden fruit under the moonlight.

You tried to scream, but no sound escaped your lips as you witnessed the scene unfold. The veins beneath his eyes rippled, the whites of his eyes stained a pure crimson, a macabre reminder of the life he was stealing from you and the revealing of his true form. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

The sight of him licking your blood from his fingers sent a chill down your spine, refusing to waste a drop, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable. "Fuck," he murmured, his voice a sultry whisper that wrapped around you like chains, binding you to the horror before you. The twisted intimacy of the moment felt suffocating, and you could sense the bond he was forging—one that tethered your very essence to his.

Chishiya’s movements were deliberate and eerily calm as he reached for a bag of blood, the contents dark and viscous, far blacker than anything human.

His blood.

You felt your heart race, pounding against your chest like a trapped bird. Panic surged within you, but it was accompanied by an unsettling sense of familiarity, as though this was all part of a dream you had been too naive to realize. You felt the suffocating weight of his gaze, the thrill of danger mingling with an inexplicable attraction.

And then, just as abruptly, the dream shattered. You woke up, gasping for breath, the echoes of terror still reverberating in your mind. Your heart raced as you glanced around your hospital room, the soft beeping of machines grounding you in reality. But the image of Chishiya—the blood, the hunger—clung to you like a shroud.

Shaking off the remnants of the nightmare, you tried to rationalize it away. Perhaps it was just your subconscious playing tricks on you, an exaggerated reflection of the vulnerability you felt. Yet, as you lay there in the dark, a shiver ran down your spine. There was a whisper of truth in the darkness, an inkling that perhaps you didn’t know Chishiya as well as you thought you did.

The idea that you were entangled in something far more sinister than you could comprehend lingered at the edges of your mind. As you clutched the sheets tightly, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadows were closing in, and it was only a matter of time before the truth would surface.

But for now, you would push those thoughts aside, retreating into the safety of your dreams, even as the haunting memories of the night left you trembling in its wake.

Before you knew it, the morning sun peeked through the blinds. You blinked away the remnants of sleep and turned your head to find Chishiya sitting in the corner of the room, his gaze fixed intently on you. His presence was both a comfort and a source of unease, and you felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth as silk, but there was an undercurrent of something darker beneath his calm demeanor. “How are you feeling?”��

You forced a smile, attempting to mask the tremor in your heart. “I—uh, I had a strange dream.”

His interest piqued, and for a brief moment, the usual amusement flickered in his eyes. “Strange how?” he asked, leaning forward, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

The memory of your nightmare washed over you, but you hesitated to divulge its true nature. “Just… odd,” you replied, choosing your words carefully. “Nothing to worry about, I guess.”

Chishiya studied you, a calculating expression on his face. There was a silence that stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. The lingering fear from your dream wrestled with the reality of his presence, and you felt the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, searching for something—answers, perhaps, or the cracks in your facade.

He nodded slowly, as if weighing your response. “Dreams can be powerful things. Sometimes, they reveal what we’re truly feeling, even when we don’t want them to.”

His words sent a chill through you, resonating with the unease that had taken root in your chest. You felt like a moth drawn to a flame, teetering on the edge of enlightenment while also fearful of the depths it could reveal. The shadows of your dream flitted in your mind, reminding you of the danger lurking behind his charming exterior.

“Did you remember anything specific?” he pressed, a hint of curiosity lacing his tone, as if he were a predator probing for weakness in his prey.

You shifted under his gaze, unwilling to disclose the true content of your nightmare. “Not really. Just… ghosts of memories, I suppose.”

His smile was sharp, as if he enjoyed the game you were playing, but the air felt heavy with tension. “Past experiences can hold great meaning,” he replied, the words laced with an enigmatic undertone. “But memories are also unreliable and simply serve as backbones for rumination.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. The shadows danced at the edge of your vision, and despite your efforts to shake off the remnants of your fear, you felt a chill crawl up your spine.

Chishiya’s expression remained inscrutable as he regarded you for a moment longer, then he straightened, the tension in the air shifting. “You need rest,” he said, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. You were left in the soft hum of the machines, the silence amplifying your thoughts. Looking up at your IV bags, they were clear—no blood. A wave of unease washed over you, and you instinctively reached for the line, feeling the cold plastic against your skin. It was strange, unsettling, as if the absence of his blood—if your crazy dream had any basis in reality—was somehow a void that left the air heavy with unsaid words.

Outside, Chishiya leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath to center himself. He was acutely aware of the nightmare that had haunted you; it had been no accident. By withholding his usual compulsion last night, he had intended to see how much you knew—how aware you had become of the threads connecting you both.

He knew you had glimpsed the darkness lurking beneath the surface, the unsettling truths about your bond. The look of horror on your face as you witnessed his true form had been exhilarating yet worrying. He knew had to act before those fears took root and blossomed into doubt.

Chishiya pondered his next move. You were already beginning to piece together the puzzle, and that was commendable. But he needed to ensure that your trust in him was absolute. The last thing he wanted was for you to start questioning your reality or, worse, seeking out the truth beyond the lies he had crafted.

It was time to tighten the bonds that tied you to him. He could feel the connection deepening with each passing day, but now he needed to escalate things, to ensure you remained ensnared in his web. He couldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

His mind raced with possibilities, each more tantalizing than the last. The idea of bringing you deeper into his world, of showing you the true nature of your connection, thrilled him. He envisioned guiding you through the shadows, illuminating the dark corners of your mind, and transforming your fear into blind acceptance—for eternity.

For the next few days, Chishiya adopted a calculated distance, allowing a careful space to grow between you. It was a tactic, one designed to cultivate a longing in you, to ignite a sense of loss that would render you desperate for his presence. He had learned long ago that desire, once kindled, could burn hotter than any flame.

During the day, he was a ghost, slipping in and out of the hospital like a shadow, his interactions minimal yet charged. You caught glimpses of him from afar—his laughter mingling with the nurses, his easy demeanor drawing people in. But when night fell, you would drift into dreams steeped in his essence, each encounter filled with a vividness that left you breathless.

While you slept, he entered your subconscious like a thief in the night, weaving a tapestry of sensations and emotions that rendered you utterly enthralled. He didn't need to compel you; instead, he sparked a craving within, igniting a hunger that pulsed in your veins. You would dream of him standing in the doorway of your room, his presence a beacon of light amidst the dark, a sweet reminder of everything you were missing.

You often awoke in the middle of the night, heart racing, yearning for him. The emptiness of the room felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the warmth of his gaze that lingered in your memory. Each day without him felt like a slow unraveling, the world outside your window dimming without his touch.

Your nights became a blend of fragmented dreams where he danced just out of reach, a haunting melody that pulled at your heart. You felt the ache of longing settle deep within you, a relentless pulse that begged for his return. It was as if he had planted seeds of desire in the fertile ground of your mind, nurturing them with whispered promises that echoed through your dreams.

“Chishiya?” you would murmur, a question directed at the void that seemed to mock you. The silence that followed felt heavy, yet a part of you knew he was there, lurking just beyond the veil of your awareness, savoring your fragility.

Throughout the daytime, you tried to focus on your recovery, but his absence haunted you, lurking at the edges of your thoughts like an unwelcome specter. You walked around the hospital, taking small strides that felt like victories in your healing journey. Yet, each step felt heavy with the weight of longing, as you scanned the corridors for a glimpse of him. The nurses, concerned for your well-being, would occasionally check in, their gentle smiles unable to dispel the heaviness that clung to your heart. You found yourself restless, unable to shake the feeling that someone was missing.

Chishiya’s grand plan unfolded beautifully. Each passing day, you became more attuned to the bond between you, the pull he had on your heart. You craved his presence, the way he made you feel—safe yet exhilarated, ensnared yet free. He was a paradox, a mixture of light and shadow, and you wanted to explore every facet of him.

One night, as you lay in the dim light of your room, the hospital quiet around you, he slipped back into your dreams. This time, he was more vivid than ever, stepping into the moonlight that filtered through your window, his eyes shining like liquid silver.

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice a caress that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

In the dream, you reached for him, desperation clawing at your chest. “I need you,” you breathed, the words spilling from your lips before you could think to hold them back. The longing was palpable, a force that pulled you toward him.

Chishiya smiled, that predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine, and stepped closer. “Good,” he murmured, his voice a silken whisper.

As you moved closer to him in the dream, the space between you vanished, and you felt the weight of his presence envelop you. The warmth radiating from him was intoxicating, igniting a fire within that had been smoldering since his absence.

“Don’t you see?” he continued, his gaze piercing into your soul. “You need me just as much as I need you.”

The intensity of his words resonated deep within you, igniting a longing so profound it was almost painful. You could feel your heart racing, your body aching for the connection you once shared. “I can’t live without you,” you whispered, fully aware of how much power he held over you.

A smile crept across his face, an expression that melded satisfaction with something darker. “Then let me show you what it truly means to surrender completely.”

He leaned closer, and the world around you blurred into a haze of color and sensation, the lines between reality and dreams merging until you felt as if you were suspended in a state of blissful oblivion. You surrendered to the pull of his essence, the bond between you solidifying with every heartbeat.

When you awoke the next morning, your heart was still racing, the remnants of the dream clinging to you like a silken web. The absence of Chishiya felt more profound than before, a hollow wound that begged to be filled. You could almost hear his voice echoing in your mind, whispering promises of connection and understanding.

As the day stretched on, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than the emptiness he had left behind. The nurses bustled around you, their chatter falling on deaf ears as your thoughts spiraled into an abyss of longing.

He had woven his influence into the fabric of your very being, and you felt more entangled than ever. With every moment that passed, you realized you were no longer just a patient recovering in a hospital. You were a puppet, dancing on the strings he had crafted, and the desire to be near him pulled you inexorably closer to the edge of his world.

But you didn’t care.

The only thing you wanted—needed—was Chishiya.

That night, sleep was a treacherous companion, dragging you into the depths of a nightmare you couldn't escape. You were back on your bike, the world around you bright and carefree, until it shattered in an instant. The screeching of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and the sudden pain that ripped through you were all too vivid. The memory of the accident clawed at your mind, the feeling of helplessness suffocating you. You saw the drunk driver’s face, a twisted mask of indifference, and felt the darkness creeping in as your consciousness faded.

Then came the familiar presence, a flicker of warmth amidst the cold terror—Chishiya had saved you. He had stitched you back together with modern medicine and healed you with his own blood. Every moment he spent by your side had been woven with an obsession that, in your shattered mind, felt like the purest form of love.

As you jolted awake, tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling with the weight of the realization. “Chishiya!” you sobbed, the name a desperate plea escaping your lips as you grasped at the darkness, willing him to emerge.

From the shadows, he appeared, an ethereal figure illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through your window. His eyes glinted with an intensity that set your heart racing. “I’m here, Y/N,” he murmured, gliding toward you with an unsettling grace. The moment you stood, he wrapped his arms around you, the world solidified, his presence anchoring you back to reality.

The gnawing urge inside you felt like poison, a slow death that throbbed with each heartbeat. The pain of his absence had become unbearable, a void that swallowed you whole. “I can’t live without you,” you whispered, the admission heavy on your tongue.

Chishiya pulled back slightly, his gaze piercing through you as he stroked your hair, soothing the tremors that wracked your body. “What would you be willing to do for me?” he asked, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine.

“Anything,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips like a sacred vow.

“Would you live for me?” he pressed, his expression unwavering.

“Only with you,” you replied, the conviction in your voice growing stronger.

In that moment, he leaned closer, brushing his lips against the delicate skin of your neck. The sensation ignited something primal within you, a fire that surged through your veins. Then, without warning, he bit down, and a wave of pure ecstasy flooded every nerve in your body.

As Chishiya sank his fangs into your neck, a sensation unlike any other surged through him. The warmth of your blood flowed into him, rich and vibrant, igniting a hunger that had long been a shadow at the edge of his existence. It was a taste that transcended the mere physical; it was the essence of you, the very core of your being, submerging his senses with an exquisite euphoria he hadn't known he craved.

With every drop, he felt the ties between you solidify, weaving a bond that could never be broken even in death. The world outside faded into obscurity, leaving behind nothing but the rhythm of your heart and the potent pulse of your life force surging through him. This was not merely sustenance; it was a communion, a merging of souls that set his very essence ablaze.

He reveled in the taste, feeling it seep into his soul, satiating a deep hunger within that he had never fully understood. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a fleeting moment, all his thoughts dissolved into a singular focus: you. The connection deepened tenfold, intertwining your fates in a way that felt predestined. He was no longer just a watcher in the shadows; he was a part of you, and you were a part of him.

Every heartbeat resonated with the truth of your bond, a melody that played in harmony with the pulse of your blood. He drank deeper, savoring the intimacy of the moment, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken promise of loyalty, protection, and an unyielding devotion. You were his—enthralled and ensnared, bound by a love that was both beautiful and terrifying.

Your vision grew spotty, your heartrate slowing, your body melting into his arms like a puddle of surrender. The world around you faded away, leaving only the clarity of his presence—his warmth, his scent, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Chishiya’s grip tightened around you as he continued to drink, his fingers threading through your hair with a tenderness that belied the ferocity of his earlier actions. Finally, he pulled away, your blood covering his mouth and dripping down his chin. His eyes glowed red, piercing into you like liquid fire.

“You’re mine,” he declared, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a flame deep within your core. With that proclamation, a sense of belonging surged through you—a realization that this was where you were meant to be.

“Will you stay with me?” Chishiya’s gaze bore into yours, searching for an answer, for affirmation. The intensity of his stare held you captive, and you felt the weight of his question settle deep within you.

“Always,” you breathed, the words spilling from your lips with a conviction that surprised even you. The promise hung between you like a delicate thread, binding your fates together in an intricate tapestry of love and darkness. Life ebbed away from you, your breaths growing shallow and your body cold.

He smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes that promised both pleasure and peril. With a swift motion, he bit into his wrist, the crimson liquid pooling at the wound. He took in a mouthful of his own blood, then captured your lips with his, coaxing you to drink.

Suddently, energy thrummed at the tips of your fingers, and instinctively, you brought your hands up to his face, holding him as he kissed new life into you. It was a rebirth, a metamorphosis that coursed through your veins like wildfire.

The metallic taste of his blood was soon replaced by something sweet and utterly indescribable, quenching a hunger you didn’t know you had until the moment his lips touched yours. With each passing second, your heartbeat grew stronger, intensifying the sensation and drawing you deeper into a realm where pleasure and pain intertwined seamlessly.

As the kiss lingered, the world around you faded even further, leaving only the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies entwined. You could feel the insatiable hunger swelling within you, demanding more. With a fervent need, you trailed soft kisses down his neck, inhaling his scent—irresistible and amplified. Every breath drew you closer to the edge of something carnal.

In a surge of instinct, your teeth sank into the delicate skin of his neck. Chishiya let out a moan as his hands threaded into your hair, holding you tighter in his embrace. The taste of his blood mingled with the sweetness of your rebirth ignited a fire that surged through you. It was a delicious paradox, the push and pull of pleasure and hunger intertwining, leaving you gasping for more.

You could feel his heartbeat thrumming beneath your lips, each pulse a seductive rhythm that urged you on. With every swallow, your senses heightened, drawing you deeper into the essence of him. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a game where both of you were willing participants, losing yourselves in the moment.

Chishiya’s grip tightened, fingers curling around your nape as if to ground you, to keep you from drifting away in ecstasy. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Take what you need.”

The command sent a thrill through you, amplifying your desire. You bit down a little harder, savoring the rich, metallic flavor that flooded your senses, blending with the sweet, almost ambrosial undertones. It felt like power—his vulnerability in your hands, a delicious contrast to the control he had always held over you.

As you pulled back, your eyes met his, and the intensity of his gaze nearly stole your breath. He leaned into you and kissed you once more, both of you licking whatever remnants of blood remained on each other’s lips.

The implications of your actions hung in the air, promising a future steeped in darkness and unbridled passion. But in that moment, nothing else mattered—only the undeniable connection between you, the bond forged in blood and desire.

“Together,” you whispered, the vow escaping your lips like a prayer, a commitment to whatever darkness lay ahead.

His smile was wicked, full of promise and peril. “Always,” he replied, sealing your pact with a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was a declaration of war against the mundane, a leap into the unknown where love and madness entwined like vines around a tree.

In that instant, you knew there was no turning back. You were his, and he was yours, the two of you entwined in a dance of desire that would take you both to the edge of oblivion and beyond.

thank you for reading <3

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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

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childhood friends danny and jason miscellaneous thoughts: because why not, i'm reworking ch2 because it no longer fits with the remaster of chapter 1 so i've been thinking of them, and i love talking about them. which you should totally go read the remaster because its 26k words and im very proud of it and it barely got any attention.

First off Ellie vapes. Mostly because I think its real fucking funny. The first time Danny finds out about it he gets all up in arms about it. Ellie at first thinks its because she's smoking -- which, helloooo pot meet kettle, Danny has been smoking for a lot longer than she has.

And then he throws a curveball at her and says he's upset specifically because its vaping. Like no, no. Dammit, if you're gonna fuck up your lungs you gotta do it properly, none of this cotton-candy flavored nonsense.

He plays it up for laughs and it's largely non-serious 'i can't believe you're using a vape', if only to hide the fact that he is genuinely displeased with his little sister smoking. Self-destructive behaviors and bad habits are his thing, thank you very much.

But, well, he knows he'd be a hypocrite if he told her he didn't like that she was smoking. He's aware its bad for him, but habits are hard to break and he's not particularly keen to break this one in particular.

Danny bullies her relentlessly about it whenever she vapes in front of him. Like don't be a loser, Elle, carry a carton of cigs and a lighter in your back pocket like the rest of us degenerates.

[more under the cut]

Secondly: Danny's piercings? He got the first lobe piercings as a lost bet from Sam in junior year, and they did it in her room with a needle, a small bottle of blood blossom extract, and an apple. He broke out in hives for a week after thanks to the blood blossom, but it prevented the hole from healing up :)

He got the rest done professionally at a piercing place in the Ghost Zone. He asked Johnny where to find it. Sam and Johnny (and Kitty) nearly convinced him into getting snakebites. He got an eyebrow piercing instead.

Danny's undercut is also self-done, he did it because Technus shot at him with an ectoblast and it missed hitting him, but set his hair on fire. Danny got it out pretty quickly, but it left his hair lopsided and obviously looking like it got burned by something. He went to Sam for help after the fight. He liked the way it looks so he's kept it that way since.

Vlad brought up Jason once(1) in a taunt during a fight, and this was after Jason disappeared from the ghost zone, and Danny very. very nearly killed him on the spot. He hasn't done it since.

Which leads into the other thing: Grief Triggers! As I call them. All Banshees have them in this au.

While all banshees are, in general, in a permanent state of grief, Grief Triggers are a specific emotional response that can cause them to spiral into a state of intense, sometimes debilitating sorrow, and most of the time causes them to start wailing.

Banshees know what their Grief Triggers are and in general tend to try and build up a form of resistance against it so that, if something occurs that happens to trigger said grief, they can at least either get away from other ghosts to let loose or have enough control over themselves that it'll take more work to send them spiraling.

As expected, Jason is Danny's grief trigger. He's built up a pretty good resistance to it so that hey, talking about him and his death is easier than when Danny was fourteen. But a little more prodding and it will trigger, especially depending on who brings him up and how. (See: Vlad)

Grief Triggers also manifest relatively the same; with the induction of an intense state of grief and sorrow, but how a banshee acts on it can sometimes vary. Again, it depends on who triggers it and how. Some of them can get,,, violent, depending on how it happens.

Rath, this au's 'Dan', is a case of a banshee being put into the grief state caused by grief triggers and... never really leaving it. Which they usually do on their own, or with help depending on the severity of it.

At the time it happened Danny was going through the worst week of his life a second time: his best friend's ghost disappeared, then his family and friends all died right in front of him, and then he was stuck with someone who wasn't helping him through that grief.

He was already in the grieving state when Vlad tore out his ghost half. As a result, Vlad only made it worse. With that fury thrown into the mix, Vlad ended up getting torn apart and nobody else was close enough with nor could they get close enough to Rath to help him come down from the wailing state.

So Rath ended up getting stuck in a perpetual negative feedback loop of absolute misery, and well... drove himself insane. The rest of the world became collateral as a result.

the difference between Danny and Jason lies in the fact that Jason died, while Danny is dead.

I'm having more thoughts on the CFAU/TMWS universe banshees, actually.

Banshees are either born in the ghost zone from ectoplasm and are ecto-entities and work as banshees as how we know of them, or they're human spirits that died mourning someone and that grief was so intense that it turned them into a banshee. They're a little more rare.

These banshees typically mourn only one person, or sometimes they follow their Realm-born counterparts and choose a family to mourn for. Typically their own.

Ember is not a banshee; human spirit banshees are always mourning another person. However, her abilities emulate certain qualities of banshees: like the beautiful singing. But in comparison to an actual banshee, Ember's voice pales.

Does this mean Danny has the better singing voice? Yeah. Ember is incensed by this.

If canon Danny and CFAU/TMWS Danny met, I think canon Danny would be kinda unsettled or off put by CFAU.

CFAU Danny still has some pretty core Danny traits, at least I like to think so -- his general drive to help people just out of compassion for them (even if it manifests differently at first due to trauma), his wit and humor, his fear of failing to protect his loved ones, all of those resonate with canon Danny.

However, canon Danny, as far as I can remember and as far as his wiki goes, rarely gets extremely angry or emotional. He gets irritated and he gets annoyed but him getting mad I don't think happens super often. CFAU Danny is the angrier one between Jason and Danny. It's one of the things I consider a division point between him and canon Danny as it's a result of him growing up in Crime Alley. Canon Danny is canonically shy and meek prior to becoming Phantom, CFAU Danny couldn't be -- he'd be dead already.

CFAU Danny's anger would off put canon Danny, in my opinion. His anger, his smoking, and for lack of a better term, his bloodlust would unsettle him.

Like, for example, say CFAU Danny gets transported to a canon (or canon-adjacent) Danny's universe. He's staying with canon for a little bit as they brainstorm how to get him back home, and CFAU Danny goes to school with canon if only so that he's not stuck in the house all day.

Whether they try and pass CFAU Danny off as canon's cousin or if the town already knows that he's another version of Danny, it doesn't matter. Because insert Dash.

Dash who, in CFAU Danny's world, has since learned not to fuck around with Danny or the other kids because Danny has long since asserted that he will beat his ass if he does. 'Fucking around' always predates the 'finding out', and Danny is happy to act as consequence.

(As my father told me (paraphrased) when I was a small child and full of uncontrollable anger: "there's gonna be a day where you're gonna hit someone, and they're gonna hit you back")

And canon Dash, who is used to canon Danny who kinda just takes it because it means that he won't target other people, would see CFAU Danny. He'd notice the resemblance between him and canon, immediately try and go "oh new target!", and try and bully him the same way he does to canon. And Danny "I am the consequences of your actions" CFAU Fenton, instantly throws hands.

Just, CFAU Danny is kind but he's also Gotham-raised and full of bite; he's meaner than canon is. He's more ruthless too, especially in his ghost fights. The ease of which he slips into violence would, imo, discomfort canon. CFAU and Canon would eventually get along though, they're not so different that they'd be in constant clash of each other.

(Canon Danny and Danyal Al Ghul however,,, thats another post LMAO)

#cw smoking #cw vaping #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dead on main au #childhood friends au #cfau #dpdc #ugh i could have made this two parts probably #i've had a lot of thoughts on banshees in this au and how i could adjust them #what i didn't get into: the ghostly behavioral affects that danny has gone through since dying. the ghostly mood swings and #heightened emotions that he's had to work through for the last five years.#one of my favorite lines in the remaster is danny mentioning offhandedly that he's gotten better at his mood swings ever since being a ghos #but also implying that vlad has been on the receiving end of these mood swings before and it didnt end well for him #like yessss gurl go through permanent irrevocable changes of your physiology and psyche that has ultimately altered you from the person you #used to be. you are now no longer fully human yess gurl pick up those habits and behavioral changes that is common in the species you've #been turned into even if its only halfway.#iirc i don't think i included obsessions in this au and checking the remaster doc and the word doesn't show up once in all 26k words of it #so hey looks like we get this instead #danny's singing voice is permanently ingrained in my head as sounding like hozier #its very very funny to imagine my au dannys meeting canon danny or canon adjacent danny #cfau seeing dan: who tf is that?? | canon: um.. dan? our evil alternate future self? | cfau: THATS your evil future self??#canon: yeah?? does yours not. look like that? | cfau: NO?#look if dan saw rath he would do a doubletake is all im saying and then would go “what the fuck what the fuck what the fUCK”#turning rath into a horror movie abomination is the fun part of this au and he's never even gonna show up #jason died but danny is dead. it lies in the past and the present. the was and the is. one of us got up and the other didn't

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